


The Queen's Trials

by Experiment413



Series: Dectheon [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: //points at dean, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Dream Bubbles, Gen, Ghosts, God Tier, Magic, Murder, Oracle Clouds, Semi-OC, Some characters only mentioned, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 16:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5792257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experiment413/pseuds/Experiment413
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are beginning to click.</p><p>It’s a puzzle, a massive test, and it matters. It’s not one that a person would do in kindergarten.<br/>It’s a choice between life or death.</p><p>Dean Dracon, now heir to a dead queen's throne, isn't prepared for the pressure of taking on the task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HOOOOO BOY  
> PART TWO OF DEC
> 
> Droog/Dusk is my beta. Dean is his bean.  
> hehe  
> bean bacon
> 
> (why do i still find this funny)

Her riddles were tricky, intricate things. Dean Dracon vaulted himself over the barrier, clearly labeled ‘DO NOT ENTER’ in a faded yellow, and written beneath it in red, ‘I’M SERIOUS!!!’.

 

He hit the floor, sending dust everywhere. He held up his arm to block out the sun. He glanced to the paper in his hand.

“Is this where you wanted?”

‘It’s up to you to find out,’ scrawled itself across the paper. He’d known that handwriting and that shade of violet for a while now. This was a ghost, guiding him.

He sighed, grabbing a flashlight from his bag. He stepped into the dark ruins.

 

“I don’t know what you need from this place,” he said.

‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ responded the paper.

“This is ridiculous.”

No response.

 

He walked on, ducking to avoid collapsed supports. At one point he’d walk straight into a spiderweb, and start flailing and coughing, rubbing at his face to get it off.

 

The paper had been right. A gear the size of a table was wedged into a rock, and Dean cautiously approached it. He set the flashlight down and put the paper in his pocket. He placed one foot on the rock, grabbed the gear with both his hands, and tugged.

 

When the gear came out of place, he fell backwards into the debris. He got up and picked the gear off the floor. He grabbed his flashlight and sat down to inspect it. He shown the light over it, revealing little wedges here and there on the side facing him. He tried rubbing the dust off of it, and the wedges revealed to be words. 

 

He pulled out the paper again. “Do you remember this thing?”

‘Yes.’

“What is it.”

‘A keepsake.’

“From who?”

‘The gear was from a group of person. The message was by one, completely unrelated to them.’

 

He kept rubbing away the dirt and grime, revealing the whole message to himself.

Dean read aloud, “To my Agent- I cannot think of any award to give you for your devotion other than a thank you. Despite the bumps in the road you’ve come across, you’ve retained your title and your loyalty to Derse. This kingdom would never be the same if you hadn’t stuck around. Thank you. - The Black Queen.”

 

He looked it over again for a second, before attempting to stuff it in his backpack. Upon his success, he sat down to look at the paper again.

 

“You worked for BQ.”

‘Yes.’

“As an Agent?”

‘Believe it or not.’

“You’re human.”

‘I was recruited as a Dreamer.’

“Why?”

‘She saw potential in me.’

 

It faded after he read it, and a new line appeared.

 

‘I think she knew I would begin to corrupt.’

“You were a rebel,” Dean said.

‘Somewhat. I thought they had a point, but I saw no use in taking out the monarchies themselves.’

“They were too big and powerful.”

‘Exactly. The rebels never stood a chance, unless events changed.’

“Did they?”

‘No.’

“Care to explain?”

‘I am not going into detail about that branch off timeline.’

“Traumatizing, huh?”

‘I wouldn’t call it that.’

 

He looked up from the paper, beginning to trace his steps back to where he entered. “What about your daughter?” he asked, not looking down to the paper yet, until he found a spot to sit.

‘Miss her.’

“How’d you even get close to Mobius without being exiled?”

‘Mostly vagueness. Rarely lies.’

“Huh. Do you know where Saturn is now?”

‘No.’

“Are you concerned in the least?”

‘Yes. Very.’

“Is she alive?”

‘Yes.’

“.. What even is her power? She used it on me before, and I know she’s a Light player, so it’s gotta be something involving luck..”

‘She has the ability to increase others’ strength and magical ability, as well as give them a higher chance of winning a fight. As most do, the more she uses it, the more it gets more powerful.’

“Meaning if she gets old enough, she could make people immortal?”

‘She wouldn’t be able to live that long.’

“Can she use it on herself?”

‘No.’

“So that’s why Mobius wanted to keep her around?”

‘It was one of his reasons.’

 

He busted off the chest he was sitting on. “Huh,” he said quietly. He got off it, stuffed the paper back in his backpack pocket, and unlatched it.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ was scrawled onto the paper, but he didn’t see it.

 

The second he opened it, something inky black exploded out of the thing. He was knocked backwards, and when he looked up, he saw a miniature Horrorterror, looking down at him, obviously angry. Dean scrambled to his feet and bolted. The Horrorterror was at his tail, tentacles trying to grab him.

 

He took a wrong turn and had to slide into a gap, and suddenly he was met with bright sunlight again. He’d gotten outside. He turned back to see the Horrorterror attempting to squeeze through the gap, and he took this time to run up and to vault himself over the wall again.

 

Dean landed, sending dust and sand flying, visible in the dry desert air. For what felt like the millionth time, he bolted off into the vast wasteland.

 

This was his first hint of several, to a puzzle he wouldn’t know the name of for a long, long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean found himself gazing at the horizon, perched atop his car. He’d been there for hours, just… staring.

 

The surrounding area looked much like how it used to, before the apocalypse. It was a salt flat. It remained looking like one, rather, a dust flat. Everything on the planet looked like that. Forests reduced to burnt, black trees, oceans and lakes dried, mountains were leveled, and everything just kind of burned up, vanished into thin air.

It was what made the sky so different, survivors knew- Dean knew- that the sun had gotten a little closer. That was part of the reason things burned up.

 

The Lord had dealt a lot of damage. It first came in reducing planets to dust by moving stars, quickly followed by shifting everything, knocking away stars, planets smashing into each other, comets redirected, and later on it came in black holes, which wiped out a lot of the existing solar systems.

 

The universe clung by a thread.

 

The sunlight had turned the sky orange and red, and casted a yellow halo around the sun. Dean didn’t care about staring straight at it, he was God Tier, he didn’t have anything left to worry about. Not even himself.

 

His gaze was redirected at the clouds. Something was wrong. Clouds here were rare- it hardly rained. Not only that, but they shone blue, and they were gathering.

 

He grabbed the paper from his bag, asking, “What are the clouds doing?”

There was no response, and he frowned, deciding to stare up at the phenomenon. It couldn’t kill him, not unless it was Heroic or Just.

Honestly, maybe his death would be Just, or that’s just what he thought.

 

He asked another question. “Will it kill me?” 

He secretly wished it would.

 

He got no response out of the paper.

 

“Where are you?” Suddenly his voice was filled with a strange, foreign concern. Not once had the paper not answered so many questions in a row. It was always there to guide him, but not now.

 

Maybe the clouds would.

 

He pocketed the paper and gazed.

 

He saw something beyond his universe, taking place now, he felt, elsewhere, in a place untouched by apocalypse.

 

He got his first breath of clear air from the vision, though he knew it was fake. He just stared straight ahead.

 

Three people conversed. A woman in red, short for a human, went on about something Dean couldn’t exactly understand. In front of her was a tall, buff Dersite, and behind him, probably the tiniest carapacian Dean had ever seen. Both carapacians wore dark suits and hats, and Dean recognized them- Hearts Boxcars and Clubs Deuce of the Midnight Crew.

 

He remembered then. Oh no. Dean was the reason Diamonds Droog had died. He let out a shaky breath and paused, hoping none of them heard him, but of course they didn’t.

 

The woman, to him, he couldn’t place a name to. Her eyes were a milky white- this was a ghost. She was God Tier, surely, a Time player with ruby red silks over her shoulders and down her back, with obsidian black laurels on her head. Her outfit didn’t cover her arms, revealing hundreds of scars and slashes along them. He’d never seen a class like her, so he placed no title to the woman.

 

Hearts Boxcars interrupted her, causing her to shoot an angry glare at him and shift almost uncomfortably.

 

“Listen,” he started. “This kid yer talkin’ about killed Droog. Why aren’t you pissed about that?”

“I got my reasonin’,” said the woman. She took on a similar tone of speaking as him, maybe it was just habit. “I’ve been seeing what he’s doin’ and he’s pulled off really well!”

“But yer trustin’ a murderer!”

“Everyone’s a murderer at one point in their lives, Box. You’ve killed people, I’ve killed people, Deuce’s killed people. You’re blamin’ a kid for killing a single person?”

“He was your KISMESIS!” snapped Hearts, and Deuce jumped a good three feet into the air, and his hat seemed to jump higher.

The woman’s expression didn’t change, but she instead shifted again, her back a little straighter, her hands almost curled into fists, but not quite fists either.

 

“You’re thinking irrationally,” she said. She lost the tone, dropping it for her own way of speaking. It sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. She spoke like royalty, and it had seemed to piss off Hearts even more. So much more, even, that she was grabbed by the collar and picked up off the floor.

 

She hissed, a hiss so similar to the one Dean had heard Diamonds Droog produce before he’d accidentally killed him. In fact, the woman acted so.. carapacian, like she’d been among them her whole life.

It was likely a Dreamer, Dean told himself. Dreamers spend a lot of time on the moons. Maybe she was thrown into the Dersite prison and never got out, and that was why she acted how she did.

 

He’d never know. The universe was weird, and the only humans on moons were ever Dreamers or unlucky souls thrown into the prison for whatever reason.

 

Unluckily for Hearts, the woman was struggling, attempting to kick him, and Deuce was panicking, tugging at the larger carapacian’s sleeve.

 

Unluckily for the woman, she was being too far out to actually kick Hearts.

 

“Box!” yelled Deuce. “Put her down! I don’t want either one of you gettin’ hurt!”

“Deuce, I could easily crush her, here and now!” hissed Hearts.

“She can outrun you though!” said Deuce. Hearts glanced away from them and he sighed, accepting the fact.

He dropped the woman and she fell onto the dirt.

 

She got up, dusting herself off. “.. We’ll talk about this later,” she muttered and walked off.

Hearts scowled, and Deuce tugged at his sleeve, leading him in the opposite direction.

 

The vision faded, and Dean was now staring at the night sky.

 

They were talking about him, and how he killed Droog.

 

How did they know? Who was that woman? Why was she watching him?

He shook the questions off, and he slipped back into his car. He took out the paper again and said, “Are you there?”

 

‘Hello,’ the paper responded.

“You wanted me to see that, did you?”

‘It depends.’

“That’s what you always say.”

‘Get some sleep.’

  
It was right. He tucked the paper away, shut his eyes, and dozed off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but it took me a long time, and I couldn't write much else on this.

Dean dropped the gear on Aranea’s desk. The Slyph looked up from her book.  
“Hello Dean.”  
“Hey,” he responded.

Aranea glanced at the gear. “So you’ve found another one.”  
“Mhm.”  
She picked up the gear, turning it in her hands and squinting to read the message.

“Your little ghost is an Agent of Derse?”  
“They said so.”  
“Huh. Could you get your friend?”

Dean took out the paper and smoothed it out.  
“Hey,” he said.  
‘Hello,’ responded the paper.  
“Aranea is here.”  
‘I know.’  
“It’s okay if she asks questions, right?”  
‘Yes.’  
Dean shrugged, looking up at Aranea and passing the paper to her.

Aranea huffed, taking the paper. “Who the hell are you?”  
‘Someone you don’t know.’  
“No shit. What’s your history.”  
‘What do you mean?’  
“What did you used to be?”  
‘I was a guardian.’  
“A guardian of what?”  
‘Many things.’  
“What was your life like?”  
‘I was infamous.’  
“Infamous for what?”  
‘Loving someone.’  
“That must’ve sucked. Tell us, are you an Agent of Derse?”  
‘Was.’  
“Were you fired?”  
‘No.’  
“Did you quit?”  
‘Yes, but not entirely.’  
“What do you mean?”  
‘I’m tired, can we stop.’  
Aranea growled, passing the paper to Dean.

Dean kind of narrowed his eyes at the response. Could the dead get tired?  
“Are you okay?” he asked.  
‘Yes,’ responded the paper.  
“Well, where to next?”  
‘West. Bring some friends.’  
Aranea leaned over to read. “Why?” asked Dean.  
‘You’re going to need a lot of help.’

He sighed and got up. “Well, Aranea, you coming?”  
“If I have to,” she murmured, following after him as he walked out.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really short dkjfsdfdj

Dean never teleported or flew. He just walked, and it pissed Aranea off.

She hovered after him, trying to hide the anger on her face. As if Dean would care, the boy had seen enough to not give two shits.

 

She couldn’t imagine living out here, in the dust and grime of the wastelands. She was so used to the pockets of city life scattered about the planet that she’d forgotten her scavenger days entirely. Scavengers took to the warmth of the wasteland, while the city-dwellers stayed close with each other, not daring to take a step out there.

Well, here, you were either one or the other. Never both at once.

 

“We’re you even find that paper?” Aranea asked him.

“I found it tucked in the grip of that sword I got, surprised you forgot,” Dean said. “Just two pieces of one soul, I guess.”

“Well, Saturn gave it to you, right?”

Dean stopped and turned on his heel to face Aranea. It clicked.

“Are you suggesting that this ghost is Hadron Kaleido?”

“Who the hell else would it be? They have no surviving family in the stories. It’s a constant, it mentions they die.”

 

Dean pulled the paper from his bag. Awaiting him was ‘Hello Dean.’

“Hadron Kaleido, you sneaky shit. I should have known it was you in the first place.”

‘Moral of the story, always remember what people tell you.’

 

He glanced at Aranea, who hovered behind his shoulder to read. She seemed a little bit starstruck.  _ The only ones known to have solved the Ultimate Riddle _ , he remembered Aranea saying. Hey, that at least explained one thing.

 

“Hey, you’re good with hints, right. What are we looking for?”

It took a while, but the words appeared again, a little cramped into the sheet.

 

‘ _ My friend has problems with winter and autumn _

_ They give him prescriptions, they shine bright lights on him _

_ They say it’s genetic, they say he can’t help it _

_ They say you can catch it, but sometimes you’re born with it _ ’

 

Dean squinted. Aranea paused for a while, looking to Dean.

 

“I’ve got nothing,” he said, in case she was wondering, he thought.

“Those are lyrics to a song,” Aranea said.

“Great,” Dean muttered. “More of this bullshit.”

 

He sat in the dust, and Aranea sat next to him.

“I think we’re looking for a person, Dean.”

“A sick person? Everyone who’s sick in this hell dies. We lost all the fucking medicine in the damned universe.”

“Or one relating to sickness.”

 

Aranea took a pen from Dean’s bag, humming to herself, before drawing symbols into the sand.

 

Blood, Life, Rage, Heart. Aranea grinned at herself.

 

“What’s this about?” asked Dean.

“That song is really old. Called ‘Runs In the Family’. Based on the lyrics I can recall..” She gestured to the four aspects. “These are the aspects that may match up with a person we’re looking for. Blood for unity, Life for health, Rage for emotion, Heart for self.”

 

She circled Blood and Life. “More likely, it’s one of these two.”

She then grabbed her book for her own bag, flipping through the pages, counting. Ten gods.

 

She scratched out the Blood symbol, then the Rage. Heart and Life were left.

 

“Two per surviving aspect. Dirk is dead, so one of the Leijons is our Heart player.”

“Nepeta,” Dean said, nodding.

“Two Life players are possible, so it would be either Jane or a Peixes.”

“Feferi,” Dean added on.

“Dean goddamn Dracon, you’re a genius. Let’s go now. We have three players to catch.”


	5. Chapter 5

“This is fucking stupid,” said Dean. The further south they went, the hotter it got. The humidity grew, and he never knew a place where the moisture in the air stuck to a person so well, but nothing ever grew. Not after the apocalypse.

 

The air made him feel like he was burning. It seemed like his molecules were melting and then flashing into air, just to be heated up like the rest of the atmosphere, and thinking about that made it a hundred times worse.

 

“That’s your problem,” Aranea said. She flashed Dean a grin, and he briefly felt like tearing her to shreds, just like he did to Droog. That kind of stubbornness drove him near mad.

“Now, we’re not even remotely close to a town,” she said, gesturing out to the scorching flatlands. “So if you want to get somewhere faster, start flying boy.”

“A location was never specified,” he retaliated.

“Whatever.”

 

It took a while. They got nowhere, the landscaped looked the same as before. Maybe an hour and a half later, Dean fell face first into the dirt. Aranea stopped in her tracks, looking over the boy with a half-disgusted half-dumbfounded look on her face.

Dean just lay sobbing, tears not distinguishable from the humidity. Aranea sat down. The dirt tasted like rubbing alcohol. It stung when it touched him and burned his tongue when his breath hitched and he had to open his mouth for air.

 

The moon was on the horizon, beating out the burning, bright, awful sun that pulled the atmosphere from the land and burned all life on the planet’s surface. Eventually it’d be gone, and they would be in the cool, inviting pitch of nighttime. So he waited.

Aranea threw some comments his way, but he didn’t respond. He curled up, shut his eyes, briefly wishing for either sleep or death. One of the two would do him fine.

 

The second he tried to get sleep to take him, someone was towering over him and Aranea. He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

 

“Hey,” said Feferi. “You’ve got dirt on your face. Let me get that.”

The troll that had come out of nowhere wiped the dust off of Dean. He was too tired to argue.

He looked beside him. Aranea was asleep. He poked her, and she sat up, adjusting her glasses. 

“Feferi,” Aranea greeted her. “I’d suspected you’d be down here.”

“No you didn’t,” spat Dean.

“Okay, not you specifically.”

“Good to see you two either way!” Feferi cheered. “Anyway, what do you need?”

 

Aranea went on to explain their troubles. Dean lost his train of thought while she was explaining and monologuing, and eventually passed out face first on the floor.

“Goddammit,” muttered Aranea, moving away from him. “He’s such a mess.”

“I wouldn’t blame him if I were you.” Feferi looked down at Dean.

“I’m not blaming him, he just does…  _ this _ , a lot.” Aranea gestured to him, and Feferi threw her a frown.

“Anyway, I’ve got a place nearby, if you need somewhere to stay for the night.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“You’d be surprised.”


End file.
